I found a journal filled with letters today.

They all started with “Dear God,”

And ended with “Love, Dallas.”

I referred to him as Lord, Savior, and Jesus Christ,

Holy One, Father, and God of Mine.

The innocence of youth laced each and every letter, and I don’t quite remember why I wrote instead of praying

But my mind has always been a bit skewed that way.

As I read the words on the pages,

Written so sloppily and round,

The notes progressively grew more and more irreverent.

Curse words slipped their ways into my sentences the way your tongue slips into my mouth,

Coaxing my spirits to say God’s name for reasons most unholy.

As I grew older, my faith grew thinner, and those “Dear God’s” disappeared beneath

The alcohol and cigarettes on an asshole’s breath.

I gave up my love of God for him and he gave up nothing for me,

And I wrote no longer to God but to myself

I don’t remember why

Maybe it was to make myself feel better,

Or maybe to make myself feel worse,

But I when started writing “Dear God’s” again,

The words were laced with sarcasm rather than devotion

And when I tried to pray aloud my tongue tasted bitter

And lonely

And wasted.

All reverence

And hope

And life was gone,

Escaped through the gaping holes of my eyes

My heart drained of all feeling.